


Heliotropes

by Salon_Kitty



Category: Breaking Bad
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Post-Episode: s05e16 Felina, Post-Felina, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Prison life, but only partially, epistolary fic, slow moving relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-01
Updated: 2016-12-04
Packaged: 2018-06-05 18:01:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6715486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Salon_Kitty/pseuds/Salon_Kitty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marie finds a confidant in the unlikeliest of places.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 

 _Perhaps it deems, if roses are your choice,_  
_They praise too loudly your dear love: so take_  
_Instead the well-embroidered herb and make_  
_The heliotrope´s insistent whisp´ring voice_

_~~Rainer Maria Rilke_

 

 

September 17, 2013

 

_Dear Mr. Pinkman,_

_How are you? I hope this letter finds you well. Or at least better than you were the last time I saw you in that courthouse. I read that interview you gave – it was up on Huffpo the other day. I don’t usually read their stuff, but your name came up in a link and I thought I’d check it out. It’s actually been my intention to write to you for a while now, although I keep finding excuses to put it off. Seeing your name – not that I could ever forget it – but seeing it in a headline again reminded me that I needed to write this. My therapist said that I should do this for closure. So here I am, trying to find some closure._

_It feels so strange to be writing a letter. It’s like a lost art these days, what with all of our technology taking away any need to put a pen to paper. I don’t even write out a shopping list anymore, I just use the voice memos on my phone. But I can’t email you, and the idea of just … I don’t know, just writing it out with my hand instead of typing it, there’s something more personal in the act. It feels like I have to really think about every word I put down as I’m shaping the letters, and because of that it feels like what I’m writing is absolutely true. Would you agree? I don’t know if the guards let you write much in prison, but if they don’t, they really should. It feels kind of cathartic in a way, like I’m fifteen and writing in my journal. (My therapist has me writing in one of those, too). But maybe the warden thinks prisoners will shank each other if they’re given any kind of writing utensils or something (is it utensils or implements? I’m never really sure). It must be scary in there, sometimes, although John Ramey told me they’re keeping you in solitary, away from the other prisoners. I guess you made a lot of enemies after those terrible people who were holding you were all killed by … well, you know who (I don’t like to say his name). Still, I hope you have made a few friends, at least. For some reason, I don’t know why, but I don’t like to think about you being lonely. You looked so sad up on that stand answering so many questions about the awful things you did, about the terrible things you saw. It made me feel so sad, too. And I know what that feels like, when the sad is buried so deep in your bones that it makes them ache, when the sad comes out of your every breath. People don’t like to see it. They avoid you. And if you run into them at the store or at the bank, they won’t look you in the eye as if they’re afraid the sad will spill out of you and contaminate them. Anyway, that’s what it feels like most of the time. But I suppose it would be different for you._

_I think about Hank every day. It’s hard not to, being in this house. He fills up every space, and as you know, Hank was a big man. When he spoke, every room in the house seemed to shake with his voice. That’s how I would know when something was really hitting him hard – his voice would get so soft, barely above a whisper. He was like that for a lot of weeks before he found you and brought you to our house. I wanted you to know that. Having you here, with Steve helping him, gave Hank a purpose again. I have to find some consolation in that. When you told the jury what happened in the desert, how Hank was brave to the end, it was like I was there, like I could hear Hank on my cell phone again, telling me that we had him, we had that asshole. I want to thank you so much, Mr. Pinkman, for giving me that memory of him. I know it must have been very hard for you._

_I know, also, that my brother-in-law meant something to you. It was obvious in the way you spoke about him. The way he betrayed you – betrayed all of us – it’s difficult to let it go. My sister wanted me to go with her to visit his grave a few weeks ago. It was ~~Wal~~ my brother-in-law’s birthday, as well as the anniversary of his passing. But I’m not ready yet. I would do anything for her or for my nephew and niece, but there are some wounds that take a long time to close. It’s like you’re walking around with these gaping holes in your stomach and in your chest and every brush against them makes them seem fresh again. Does it feel like that for you? I might feel normal for a whole hour or even two, but then it will hit me: Hank isn’t coming home. No more barbecues on the back patio. No more birthday parties. No more unveiling of Hank’s latest brew. No more Christmases, Thanksgivings. Just no more. _

_I saw your family on a news program. They seem like very nice people. They even did a little segment on that award your brother received for some environmental project he spearheaded. I hope you’re allowed to see them while you’re serving your sentence. Family is important. Of course, sometimes they’re a blessing and a curse. I’ll tell you a secret. Some days, I’m still very angry with my sister. Sometimes, I even hate her. But I need to be able to talk to my nephew, and especially to see my niece. I don’t know what I’d do without them. So you put away your feelings for that little time you get to spend with them, like putting sweaters away in a bin for the summer and sliding them to the top of the closet. It makes you feel like you’re two people. The one that stays at home just hates and hates and hates. There’s so much of it, I don’t know what to do with it all._

_Anyway, that sounds like I’m kind of crazy, so I’ll stop there. I don’t know if this helped me or not, but thank you for reading this if you’ve gotten this far. Perhaps just knowing that you’ve seen this letter makes it seem like … well, not that I can really understand why you ever did those things, or why you stayed with my brother-in-law for so long, but in some ways, I suppose I feel like you’re this touchstone – the last witness to everything that happened. Knowing that you’re there, it makes all this real. That you might be reading these words makes me feel real. Does that make any sense?_

_I hope that you get to talk to people in there. Like a professional of some sort. Is therapy part of your rehabilitation? I know you had to talk to one so that psychiatrist could speak on behalf of your case, but I hope he’s continued to see you. I used to hate going to therapy. I only did it to make Hank happy. But then, over time, I realized how valuable it was for me. All of those thoughts I had that seemed unimportant to anyone else, all of the silly things that popped into my head, suddenly didn’t seem so silly anymore but were a part of me that needed to be heard. And even though it can be really grueling getting through a session with him these days, I am so grateful that I have Dave and that he lets me say terrible things a few hours every week and that its okay. That it will never leave that room. That I don’t have to say it to anyone else. I don’t ever want to say them to my sister._

_In that interview, you told the reporter that my brother-in-law never stopped being a teacher to you. That in a lot of ways, you wanted to prove that you could be his best student, that he showed you how good it felt to be a master of your craft. I had to smile at that. Hank had a lot of respect for my sister’s husband, even when he would tease him. I like to think that he would have smiled at that, too – of my brother-in-law being a teacher even as a drug manufacturer. But probably not. Hank took the law pretty seriously._

_I don’t really know what else to say, other than I hope you … find some peace? I guess. You said at your trial that you deserved whatever happened to you, but I hope you can find a way to be a better person._

_Sincerely,_

_Marie Schrader_

 

* * *

Penitentiary of New Mexico

PO Box 1059

Santa Fe, New Mexico 87504

 

January 15, 2014

 

Mrs. Schrader,

 

Hello. I don’t really know how I’m supposed to start this, so I’ll just jump right in, okay?

 

Sorry it has taken so long to respond to this. Or maybe you never intended for me to do so? I don’t know, I guess I felt like a part of you in that letter expected an answer, but it took a long time for me to get the nerve up to write back. It kind of blew my mind when I got it. The only people who’ve written to me in here are mostly women who seem to have a thing for convicted murderers, but also my mom and my brother drop me a line to let me know what’s going on in between their visits. Thank you for asking about them, by the way. I’ve put them through so much, so the fact that they are willing to have anything to do with me at all after that circus makes me appreciate them more every time I see them. Even my dad came to see me a few times, which I know was really hard for him to do. But I’ve been thinking a lot about what you wrote to me lately. I didn’t want to write during the holidays – that’s, like, the worst. So I hope you’re not mad at me for taking, like four months to answer.

 

Anyway, yeah, that reporter really keeps after me. He wants to write a book about Heisenberg and all that ~~shit~~ , (sorry), I mean the drama of the whole operation. He wants me to be his in, tell him the whole story so he can “tell the world” as he puts it, about how I got screwed over. He even thinks it would make a killer movie and keeps telling me about how much I could walk away with on my end if I sign with his agent. I don’t know, the entire thing seems kind of nuts. Like, I try to imagine who would play me? You know? Who would play my friends? Or Walter? (Sorry, I know you don’t like to use his name but it took me a long time to get this far) It’s all just totally weird. And it feels kind of wrong to, you know, make money off the story. It wasn’t a story to me. It was my life. And people got hurt or died and … you know, I’m in here and I have to think about it every day, why I made those choices. So making bank on the fact that I was a worthless individual who happened to get a front row seat to crazy town – I don’t think I could do it.

 

To answer your question about writing – yeah, we get these special pens called jail pens. They’re like, super soft or something, but you can’t stick anyone with them which is what matters. They’re kind of ~~shitty~~ crappy though, when it comes to ink so I have to keep using new ones if I write anything more than a page long. We get to use computers, but only once a week, and as you can imagine they have pretty deep restrictions on internet usage. The SAC you talked to is right – I am in solitary for the time being ‘cause, yeah,  a lot of people in here want me dead. I get a special white uniform and everything. It’s hard, though. I mean, I know it’s for my protection, and even still, I’ve had a few situations where ~~shit~~ stuff (sorry!) went down and I got a little messed up, but it’s really hard being by yourself all the time. You talk to the guys on either side of you through the walls – there’s vents up top so you can at least have a conversation. But the cell is so small and so white and just … you know, it’s like it was built this way to be a part of my mind and so everywhere I look it’s just my thoughts and my guilt looking back at me. It’s like being in no space at all, like you’re being held in this light. Only the light isn’t that comforting. The light is the truth. And being in the truth for too long doesn’t do anything but mess you up. I should probably be used to it by now. It’s not like I didn’t have plenty of time to myself when I was with Welker’s gang. I got used to being in my head. But sometimes it’s like your body is just screaming for another human being to reach out and touch you to remind you that you’re real and not a ghost.

 

Your letter was so nice. I mean, really, it was totally not what I was expecting, like, at all. I’ve probably read it like a hundred times now. You don’t have to thank me for what I said about your husband. I should have said it a long time ago. I should have come to him the first time he asked me. So much of what happened after that is my fault. A little boy that I care about has to live without his mother and that cuts me in half every time I think about it. It’s like you said, the wounds are still fresh, and like no matter what you do or think or say, they’ll never heal, never stop feeling like someone just stuck you with a dozen knives.

 

But I should really be thanking you. I know that your testimony made a huge difference when it came to my sentence. You were so fierce up on that stand. There were things you said that I didn’t even know you knew about, so really, I’m in total debt to you for saying any of it at all. I thought for sure you would hate me and want me put away forever. It was wrong of me to try and take off after Walt left me free, I know, but I guess I was pretty terrified of what would happen if I went to the cops. It was kind of a surprise, actually. Wanting to be alive, that is. I didn’t realize how much I wanted it until I was driving away from that place. Should have known I wouldn’t last long on the outside. I’m not that smart.

 

I do talk to someone. Thank you for asking. I don’t know if it really helps but I do it anyway. Any chance to be out of my cell, at least, and their office has windows so I get to feel the sun coming through the glass and that’s always good. Actually, it’s a woman, which is strange to see in this place. She’s nice, I guess, but she’s always making me do exercises where I have to write out my feelings or think of a time when I liked who I was, or whatever. She likes my drawings, so that’s cool. I get to draw, sometimes. They let me use these charcoal pencils under supervision, and that’s pretty sweet. Also, they let me read whatever I want. When I was in school, I hated reading anything because my brain was always just moving too fast and it just made me feel stupid to read these words over and over and they just weren’t making any sense. But now, I have so much time, and it’s so quiet in here, so that the words are kind of speaking to me this time and that’s cool, too. It’s like I can feel them in my whole body, not just in my head. I’m reading this guy, Steinbeck, right now. Ever heard of him? I feel like he kind of gets it.

 

I wanted to tell you that I understand what it feels like, being angry at your sister, that is. I was pretty angry for a long time, too. I still am, probably, but more at myself than a certain someone who fucked us both up. (oh man, I’m sorry with the language but you know, there’s no other word for it). I want to squeeze it out of me because it’s no good, it feels rotten, and I just can’t get anything out of being pissed off anymore. For a while there, I did. And some things I don’t feel bad over. Like, killing that guy at the compound? I’m not sorry about that. He killed kids and women and didn’t even blink an eye. But I’m not angry at him, which is kind of weird. Some people just can’t be rehabilitated, ‘cause they’re not even human to begin with. I had a friend who would understand what I mean, but he’s gone, too. But I hope you get past feeling like that one day. I think you’ll feel lighter when that day comes. And your sister – I only met her a few times, but it seemed to me she was caught up in a bad way, and I could totally understand it because Walt was like that. He could get you to do things and make you believe they made sense – make you believe that no one would get hurt. But they always did. Maybe she was thinking of her family, of your niece and nephew – and believe me, talking yourself into doing something bad so you can do something good, too – that’s a lot easier than you think. So you should try to cut her some slack. I know she was scared of Walt. I recognized that in her, ‘cause I was scared of him, too. Not always, but at the end there, he got pretty scary.

 

Well, I better stop writing about that guy, because I think about him too much already. Dr. Ellis says I need to concentrate on myself. But it’s weird how a person can get so deep in your head that when you try to think about yourself, you hear their voice instead. I need to work on that.

 

I’m trying to be a good person again, if I ever was at all. Maybe it’s easier in here ‘cause all you have to do is keep your head down and follow the rules. Getting out into the real world will be the true test, but who knows what I’ll be like when that happens. My lawyer said I could get out in eight years with good behavior, but we’ll see what happens. Can I ask you a favor? If it’s not too much trouble?

 

I’d really, really like it if you felt up to writing me again. It’s up to you, of course, and I would totally understand if you don’t want to, but … I thought I’d just put that out there. I’m not really much for the crazy chicks who want to get off on the fact that I’m a criminal and writing to me is like letting a safe little slice of danger into their lives. But writing this felt kind of nice. Like, you might not think you’re normal, but from in here, you’re way normal and I could use some of that. If you want to, like I said. You could even yell at me, if you need to. Sometimes, you got to get that shit out.

 

Thank you again for the letter. It really did mean a lot to me. Be well.

 

Yours truly,

Jesse Pinkman

 

 

P.S. That totally made sense about having someone who went through it making you feel real. I get it. I hope it was good that I could make you feel that way.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

 

_February 9th, 2014_

_Dear Mr. Pinkman,_

 

_It has been a rough few weeks, I don’t mind telling you. I would have written to you sooner but it couldn’t be helped. I hope you had some other letters to read in the meantime. You know, there are days that I just don’t want to go outside or do much of anything. Or even bother to get out of bed (I think they need to change my medication, to be honest). There’s just so much crap you can buy off of the television these days, and so many amazing deals. And sometimes those days end up being a whole week before I realize it. The weeks just slip away until it’s a month later and then you wonder where the time went._

_Plus, I had my niece’s birthday to contend with and my sister wasn’t going to do anything for her, which was just, I mean, I just couldn’t let that happen. It was a birthday bonanza, once I took over and started organizing things. But you know, my niece is getting so big, and we all just needed a good excuse for a nice party. My sister doesn’t want to deal with other people, and I can understand that, but it’s not right that Holly has to sit in that depressing apartment so much. I tell Skyler all the time that I’d love to watch her if she ever wants some time to herself. I mean, I really would love nothing more. But my sister doesn’t always trust me around my niece, which just makes it harder for me to work up the desire to do anything at all. At least when we’re all together I have an excuse, you know?_

_I did take them all out to a super swanky dinner, though. It was my treat. I just had to. My nephew is going to Las Vegas with his friends for Spring Break so it was important that the family spend some time together. Did you ever do anything like that? Go to Las Vegas, I mean. I suppose with all of that methamphetamine money you made, you wouldn’t exactly be investing in a 401K or mutual funds. My lawyer keeps telling me I need to invest the money from Hank’s policy so that I’ll always be taken care of, but the house is paid for and I don’t even know if I want to keep it. Am I supposed to travel now? Join one of those singles groups and head to Machu Picchu? Should I buy real estate and become one of those flipper people? What did you spend your money on? Is that okay if I ask? I was just staggered when my sister told me how much they had stored away before my brother-in-law buried it, and before those white supremacists ~~dug it up~~ , well, stole it from him. I remember your lawyer asking you about the five million dollars you tried to give away. Five million dollars is crazy. Why would anyone ever need that much money? I also remember that when you gave the court your answer you had to keep stopping because you were crying so hard. It was so painful to watch._

_I want you to know that you inspired me to try doing some art, too. Dave said it could be therapeutic. I bought a whole set of canvasses and a huge box of paints from QVC for under two hundred bucks. Anyway, painting is … not that fun. I start thinking about other things when I’m supposed to be creating and before you know it dinner has to get started or I have to run to the bank, and then the painting doesn’t come out the way I wanted it to and well, it doesn’t exactly work for me. But I’m glad that it does for you. I mean, I hope it still does. I have to admit, I am pretty curious now about those drawings. Are they portraits? Or still lifes? Or abstract? I wonder how you see things, sometimes. I imagine that being locked away in that place you must have a lot of thoughts about the outside. The trees. The sky. The clouds. The desert. Is it still possible to find comfort in the physical world? Some days the sky just scares me, like it might just absorb me into all that blue and I’ll stop being finite, I’ll stop being elbows and ears and feet and most importantly, I’ll stop caring, and then Hank will be lost to me. Better to stay inside. I just bought seven new photomosaic jigsaw puzzles ($9.54 a piece, DotD!) so they should keep me busy for a while._

_Forgive my rambling, but this is kind of like a brain dump for me. I hope you don’t mind. Sorry I don’t have anything insightful to say, but I think the medication suppresses anything that might come out halfway interesting. It’s like an ongoing march of partially formed ideas that want to become something smart but then they get sidetracked by shiny objects or food. Please tell me if I start to bore you. I know I drive my nephew crazy sometimes, but he still puts up with me. He’s such a lovely boy. I know how hard things have been for him since his father died, and the press has been just terrible, but it’s been even more confusing for him with all of that money the Schwartzes awarded him through their company’s anti-drug program. Did you read about that? Because of his father’s connections to these two in starting Grey Matter, I guess they felt they owed their old partner’s family for his terrible choices getting involved in the meth business. Yeah, I don’t get it, either. It was just so strange. I suppose it’s why I’ve been thinking so much about money. My nephew now has ten million dollars, or at least close enough once the lawyers get through with the taxes and their fees. At least we don’t have to worry about his college tuition. I offered to pay before we heard the news, but my sister wouldn’t let me then, and what’s even weirder, she won’t take any cash from Flynn now. I just don’t understand her most of the time. I would do anything to get my niece out of that sad place._

_You wrote something in your letter that I didn’t fully absorb the first time I read it. You said that you were surprised that you wanted to live once you got away from those awful, awful people. I think I know what you mean by that. I get these little flashes sometimes. Little glimmers of longing that make me feel like … well, not happy, really, but just reminders that there are things in this life, this place right now, that I am thankful for, that I’m glad to be witnessing, even if most of the time I don’t feel anything at all. Actually, that’s not true. It’s not that I don’t feel anything, it’s more like, living with a pain so constant that you start to forget it’s there, that it becomes the standard for your very being, a new baseline that’s so agonizing you learn to spend your days floating right above it, just so that you can make it to the grocery store, or to your niece’s birthday dinner._

_Oh, that reminds me, I really need to start planning Flynn’s party. He’s going to be 20 this summer. What did you do when you turned twenty? Just curious. It’s always helpful to have another young male opinion around for these things. I want to get something cool for my nephew, something he’ll really like. What does one get for the millionaire college kid? I will have to start doing my research. When I come up with some solid ideas, I’ll run them by you, if that’s okay?_

_By the way, thank you for the perspective you gave on – well, on Walter. I never realized it was that bad between him and my sister. There were things that happened, things that my sister didn’t share with me, even though we are very close, but when I found out, I only wanted to help. And then Hank discovering the truth about Walter, the way everything just blew up in a matter of days. It wasn’t ~~until~~ – you know, I should just stop there before I start rambling again. Anyway, thanks for the kind words. I guess I didn’t expect that from you, that you would be kind. But I read some of the interviews your parents gave. They love you very much, I can tell. It sounded like they had a very difficult time with your drug addiction, but that’s certainly understandable. I’m sure you did, too. Sometimes a person becomes a thing and you have to try very hard to remember what was once behind that thing. I think about my brother-in-law and remember the man that he was, the one I used to know so well. I can still remember the day we found out about his cancer so clearly, how terrified Skyler was, how upsetting for everyone, really, but we were a family. Hank and I would have done anything for them. _

_I hope you have had many chances to see the sun in your counselor’s office since your last letter. Spring has come early this year (I have an entire bed of crocuses and tulips blasting out of my garden so it’s been nice to have those purples and yellows in the house. I would send them to you if I could, just so you could have a bit of color in your cell). I haven’t read Steinbeck since college, but if you ever want any recommendations, I have a few. Did you know that Skyler once had a collection of short stories published? I think I still have a copy around somewhere._

_Do take care of yourself, Mr. Pinkman._

_Most sincerely,_

_Marie Schrader_

* * *

 

Penitentiary of New Mexico

PO Box 1059

Santa Fe, New Mexico 87504

 

 

February 18, 2014

 

Dear Mrs. Schrader,

 

 

Wow, what a treat to receive another letter from you! I can’t tell you how excited I was to see your handwriting on the envelope (they open my mail, of course, but I get it in a little sealed plastic bag). You are so awesome to write back to me. I appreciate it so much, like, you have no idea.

If you do keep writing me, though, I have just one little request, if that’s all right. Please call me Jesse. It’s so weird to see Mr. before my name, and with the formalities around here it’s just nice to feel like myself once in a while. I mean, don’t get me wrong, being referred to by my last name over some of the things Welker and his men used to call me at that place is so much better, but, you know it’s just so hard to feel like I’m anything like I used to be, that Jesse is still a person who lives and breathes inside of me. It’s weird to feel like two people, the one that was partnered with Walt, and then this after-me, this guy who’s just trying to make it through the day and not freak out. I know it’s terrible to think this considering all that has happened, but – I used to really like that other Jesse. Not the one who killed an innocent person or who helped get a kid murdered – him I can’t forgive. But the one who thought Walter was a pretty smart guy and would take us places. What a dope he was, huh? But sometimes, just being associated with Walt made _me_ feel smart, too, and I never, ever felt that way before.  It felt like I was on meth only better, because it was coming from me and not from some chemical. Does that make sense? I don’t expect you to understand how meth can make you feel but let’s just say it’s pretty freaking great.

You know, the funny thing is that the two of us used to fight like crazy, and Walt would just piss me off like we were back at school some days, but then later, it was like … well, it almost felt like he respected me for a little while there, and that was kind of crazy, too. But man, did it feel good. I’d never tell my parents anything like that, by the way, but I feel like maybe I can talk to you about these things. It’s like what you said about floating above the pain. I know exactly how that feels, and you’re right, it does start to feel normal. It’s weird how we can adjust to these things, huh? Maybe I’ll tell you some stories some time.

Um, my 20th birthday was pretty nuts. Don’t think you want to hear the details. Let’s just say it involved strippers and lots of drugs. I’m sure your nephew will be fine, though. Las Vegas is a blast, but if he’s got that much cheddar to roll he might want to be careful and give himself a strict limit. And tell him to keep his buddies real close. As for a present, I don’t know that I’m really the guy you want to take advice from on what young men are into today. Besides, I’m not that young anymore. I turn 30 this year. That shit is insane. But if you want to send me your suggestions, I will totally try and give you my honest opinion.

Hmm, the money? I can’t say that I spent it on anything useful. Well, I did buy a house. Half-price of its worth, but still. That was 400 grand. Other than that, a lot of garbage. Big tvs, big stereos, a bunch of gaming systems, a bunch of drugs, and a super nice mattress. It was one of those Tempur-pedic deals, like the softest shit you’ll ever sleep on. God, I miss that bed. Seriously, I really do.

I did spend some of the money on rents, and bills, and stuff like that, but really, it was like, I spent so much time thinking I needed to do this, make all that meth, because I needed to make this giant lump sum of cash so I could be something, like an adult or whatever, and then when I finally had it, I didn’t even know what to do with it all. After a while, I didn’t even care about the money anymore. It stopped being about a payout and was just about me being good at something. And then that green just sort of made me sick to my stomach looking at it.

Anyway, I hope you can make some good investments so that you can do whatever you want. You know, maybe travel isn’t such a bad idea. That could be really sweet. There’s a lot of places I wouldn’t mind going once I get out. My brother is leaving for Japan in the summer. He’s super stoked. I feel kind of proud of him. He’s going on his own, totally chill, checking out stuff that interests him. He’s a really great kid. I wish I could have paid for his college before all that money went away. You know, I almost tanked my parents’ savings with my lawyer fees, so there’s some things I’ve had to do to offset that, like that Rolling Stone interview. I may have to rethink that movie idea. I don’t want them or my brother to suffer any more than they have to because of me.

As for the art thing, sorry it didn’t work out for you, but puzzles are cool, too. I’d send you one of my drawings if you were really interested, but I don’t know if they’ll let me do that. Maybe I’ll send you a sketch with my next letter. They’re nothing special, though. I’ve been working on faces a lot. I used to draw cartoon stuff, like superheroes. But now I want to make them more realistic. I draw faces of people I knew. It’s hard, some of it. Like, I tried to draw a portrait of my girlfriend a couple of weeks ago and suddenly realized I couldn’t remember all of these little details about her, like she was sort of fuzzy when I tried to picture her smiling at me. It really crushed me. Man, I was out of it for the rest of the day, like I was a mess, for real. I mean, I loved her, how could I ever forget what she looked like? And the worst part is I don’t have any photos of us together.

Fuck, I’d better stop there. Sorry. I have another session with my counselor tomorrow, so I guess I’ll be rehashing this for her. I told her you wrote back to me and she said that it could be a healthy thing for us both. I really hope that you feel that, too. I would never tell her the things you’ve told me about yourself, so don’t worry about that, but I did tell her how your letters made me feel. Have you told your therapist about me? Or even your sister? Actually, you should probably avoid telling her about me, huh? Can’t imagine that going over well.

Anyway, it’s been great for me to be able to write these things out to you, I don’t want you to think that they just make me sad or whatever. I hope I can help you out with your nephew before his big b-day. You seem like a really great aunt. I had one, you know. A great aunt, that is. I loved her so much. She was the one person I had in my life growing up who could always make me feel special. Special and wanted. She’d actually listen to me. And man, we’d laugh so much. She was the funniest person I ever knew. I’ve been thinking about her a lot these last few months.

Well, good luck with the gardening and whatnot. And please go outside for me every once in a while, okay? I’ll make sure the sky leaves you alone, I promise.

Take care, Mrs. S.

Respectfully yours,

Jesse

 

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

 

 

_May 1, 2014_

_Dear Jesse,_

_There, is that better?_

_First of all, my apologies right off the bat. I am so very sorry that it’s been several months since I’ve written. I could easily give you excuses. I’ve had so many things to deal with lately, responsibilities with the house, with the family, and I haven’t had a lot of time. But the truth is that I just wasn’t able to sit down and respond to you until now. I couldn’t physically – or mentally – do it._

_Perhaps it was you asking me not to mention this to my sister that had me re-evaluating just what it was I was attempting to find with this little experiment.  I know I said it was about closure, but didn’t I already get that in your trial? Hearing your account, knowing what Hank went through in those final seconds of his life – that’s what I needed to hear so I could get on with living. But writing to you was maybe just an excuse for something else. To prove that you deserved being in there, or that you were nothing more than a last link to my dead husband and I just needed to see it through. Then I read what you said about your girlfriend. I don’t know if I can handle that kind of information, Jesse. Which one are you even talking about? Weren’t there two of them that died? How can you stand it, knowing that you were responsible for that? How does a person reconcile such a thing? It makes Walt’s pathetic phone call to his son to get him to take his money all the more nauseating. He did so much harm to his family and yet he still believed he had a right to involve Flynn in his schemes and traumatize him further. At what point does a person finally realize that they’re no good for the rest of us? Why would you even start a relationship with that young woman knowing what kind of danger you were putting her and her child in? What was possibly going through your mind?_

_I question why you even wrote back to me. Maybe curiosity or maybe you’re just that lonely. And believe me, I understand that kind of loneliness, I do. It’s suffocating at times. But I wonder what you hope to gain by becoming pen pals with some about-to-turn-forty widow with too much time on her hands. Not that I don’t try to fill it up. I shop like I’m in training for the Olympics. I garden. I cook. All the time. I’m a regular Ina Garten over here. Always bringing food over to my sister, although I’m sure she throws most of it out. But on most days it’s all too hard. I don’t even know what living is supposed to be like anymore. Sometimes it’s like the past is a dream and waking up to my new reality is just so damn draining. I literally have to shut off my brain if I want to get through this stuff. How do you manage to do it?_

_Do you ever dream of going backwards? Of getting a do-over so that events can play out differently? Or perhaps you’re simply afforded a moment to share something with someone before it all goes pear shaped. Did you tell all the right people that you loved them before they were gone? What do you think you would change if you had the chance? And I don’t mean that this time you just don’t sell meth, or start working with Walt – that’s easy. I mean, really and truly, where would you start over again? What would you change about yourself as a person?_

_I suppose I’m just very introspective lately. See what I mean about being in the wrong headspace? You probably don’t really want to hear this stuff. I’m not trying to make you feel guilty, you understand, I just want to know what you think about in there all day. How do you feel about your crimes? What are you going to do when you get out of there? So much to think about._

_I recently went on a lunch date with a friend. Actually, I wish I was more of a friend to her. She is the wife of Hank’s partner, Steve Gomez. (I’m sure my brother-in-law didn’t even care about the fact that he got another good man killed that day in the desert. Just another reason to hate that asshole.) Anyway, Blanca is a lovely woman, but I haven’t really talked to her much since your trial. I think she’s overwhelmed, to be honest. She has two kids to raise without a father now. My heart breaks for that family, it really does. For a while there, her and Steve and the kids used to come over all the time for barbecues. At least until Steve got bumped up to a higher pay grade and Hank was crippled by that bullet. But you saw what they were like, right? Hank and Steve always had each others backs and it was great to see them working together again like that. In some ways, I'm glad they were with each other at the end.  
_

 

_But anyway, I thought I’d try talking to Blanca in a real way and … it felt so awkward. I think I bothered her a lot, actually. She seemed upset. I didn’t know what else to talk about after a while. I was only trying to share, to open up about what I was feeling. Maybe it was the wrong connection to try and force, I don’t know. Maybe that’s why I keep writing to you. I don’t have to see your face when you read my words. If you think I’m strange, you’re too nice to say so. Then again, prisoners can’t be choosers, huh?_

_Well, anyway, as you can see, I’ve been pretty poor company as of late. I don’t really want to write about the mundane bullshit of my life, so I guess I will stop here. I’m not really sure when - or even if - I’ll write again. This has been too difficult, if I’m going to be completely honest. I can’t really make any promises._

_So, do take care of yourself. I hope you can become the person you want, Mr. Pinkman._

_Sincerely,_

 

_Marie Schrader_

* * *

 

 

_May 6, 2014_

_Dear Jesse,_

_Please ignore that last letter. I should never have sent it. I didn’t mean half the things I said. I promise. Just give me some time. I can’t even tell when I’m angry anymore._

_Sincerely,_

 

_Marie_

* * *

 

 

 

 

_June 9, 2014_

_Dear Jesse,_

_Okay, now I’m worried. I swear I didn’t mean to upset you or anything. I should just not talk to people when I’m like that. Please write back. I need to know that you’re all right._

_Marie_

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

_June 30, 2014_

_Jesse –_

_SERIOUSLY. WHAT IS GOING ON?_

_I spoke to your mother. She said they changed your cell or your block or something after an accident? That’s about all I got out of her before she closed the door in my face. Please let me know that you’re okay, Jesse. It’s important._

_Your friend,_

 

_Marie_

 

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

Penitentiary of New Mexico

PO Box 1059

Santa Fe, New Mexico 87504

 

 

July 8, 2014

 

Hey Mrs. S,

 

Sorry for the scare. Some things have changed since I last wrote to you. I couldn’t believe it when my mom told me you went to my folks' house. You are some kind of lady, I gotta say. She told me about the time your husband came to visit her, so I guess there’s some symmetry there.

 

Anyway, yeah, I’m in a new block. It’s what they call restrictive housing. They moved me to Level 5. It was kind of a rough situation. They only let you stay in PC for thirty days here because it messes with your head, so I was sent to supermax with all the hardcore inmates ‘cause that’s where everyone is housed in solitary. It was some crazy shit, too. I was being confined there because Aryan Nation has a hard-on for me, but Level 6 isn’t just death row, it’s where they send all the worst gang members that have to be kept out of the general population. The dude in the cell next to mine finally figured out who I was after a few months and, you know, it just got bad. He would yell stuff through the walls. A couple of his buddies slid kites under my door or I’d find them in my food when the tray came through the bean slot. The messages were pretty straightforward on what they planned on doing to me. It fucked me up some. And after your letter … well, it was just harder to deal with him.

I’ll be honest – the things you wrote did a bit of a number on me. I totally get where you were coming from, though, I do. But I guess I was in a fragile state or whatever. And being locked up in a tiny ass cell for 23 hours a day makes you kind of crazy. I thought it would be better, at least, than what I’d already been through, but the thing is, you can’t ever prepare yourself for it. You start hearing voices. And like, it’s always the voices that you don’t want to hear from. There’s this constant buzzing in your head and you keep trying to shut it out but it never stops.

Did you know that they had the worst prison riot in US history at this place? It happened in ’80 in the Old Main building. They have tours there now. You could come check it out. Apparently, they kept all of the snitches in Cell Block 4. I read that you didn’t even have to be a snitch, but if the guards didn’t like you, they’d hang a snitch jacket on you anyway and tell all the other inmates. So there were a lot of guys asking for protective custody. But Cell Block 5 is where the worst offenders were kept, and when they got loose and took the guards hostage, they all went straight for the snitches. It was the kind of nightmare shit that was way worse than what Jack’s crew did for Walter, when they got rid of Fring’s men. People were hacked into pieces, hanged, set on fire, and some stuff I don’t want to even think about but the guys around my cell liked to remind me every chance they got. Some of the snitches had their heads cut off while others were blowtorched or castrated and forced to eat their own genitals. Like I said, sick shit. It was totally insane. And I think about the men in here, right now, who would do the same thing to me if they got the opportunity. I think about it a lot. There were some days in supermax I couldn’t even move.

Anyway, I had an accident. Nothing major. Did some time in the infirmary. I’m better now but they’ve moved me. I’m in RPP – that’s the Restoration to Population Program. So it means I get more time with my counselor. And I get to eat with other prisoners on my block in a small mess hall, but they’re the type of guys who are more like me, doing time for drug dealing and such, some of them just out of ad seg. I might be the only convicted murderer in this group and there’s only about thirty of us. It was scary at first, feeling exposed like that, but I’ve already got a couple of dudes ready to watch my back. They’re good guys. Talking to other people – don’t ever worry about being weird or saying too much, Mrs. S. I’ve learned that sometimes you just really need to have another person in front of you, someone whose face you can see reacting to you, who says stuff that makes you laugh, and that makes you feel like you’re part of the human race. We all need that. Your friend is just dealing with her own shit, like you said, but you’re there for her and that’s important.

Now that I’ve got new living quarters, it means I can see my folks more often. Before it was only once a month, and that was only because I had privileges. They had to bring me all the way over to the other side of the compound to get to the visiting area. I’m a lot closer now so it’s a shorter trip. You should have seen my mother’s face when she was talking about you. I was dying. I guess you were really concerned, but you kind of scared the shit out of her. I can’t give you an answer on why you’re writing to me, but I’m glad that you do. For me, the letters aren’t just something to look forward to. Sometimes you say things that seem like you plucked them right out of my brain. It’s sort of weird that you can get me like that, but I totally dig the way you express yourself. Even when you’re asking me the hard questions that make me want to curl up in the fetal position, I can respect your reasons for doing so. We all just want answers. Besides, I ask myself those questions all the time, on and on, like a broken record.

As for thinking about the past, it doesn’t do me any good. I can’t change anything so why bother torturing myself like that. I’m in prison and this is my reality, I put myself here. I can only think about the day I get out. I have to look forward. I have to, or else I’ll lose my mind. I don’t have much left in this world, but what I do have, I gotta protect. The people in my life who are still willing to support me are the only thing keeping me going most days.

Hey, you want to hear something funny? They have a Drama program here. My counselor thinks I should try out. They put on a production once a year, but mostly it’s just monologues and one-act plays and stuff. Some improv, too. Wouldn’t that be hilarious? Me on a stage? I’d rather work on the sets but Natalie thinks I should express myself vocally because I’ve spent so much time alone. I don’t know, do you think I should?

You asked me what I’ll do when I get out and have to reintegrate into society and all that. I like to do things with my hands. You know, make stuff. If I do well in my block, I might be able to get a work assignment. That would be so amazing if it happened. Hard, strenuous work that I could just disappear into. Man, the hour they would give you in max to stretch and do some exercise was just not enough. Kind of a joke, actually, so I feel real soft. All those movies where they show the criminal getting hard by doing pull ups in his cell? Yeah, that’s not really how it goes. I can do sit-ups like a mofo, though. I stand on my head a lot, too. It gets me kind of zen. I’d like to be a lot more zen in my new life when I get out of here. I think that would be good for me.

Anyway, thank you for caring about what happens to me. It means so much. I hope you’ve been feeling better now that summer is here. Suck up all that sunshine if you can. I bet your garden is super awesome. And if your lasagna was anything to go by, your cooking is the bomb, too. Your sister is too lucky. Man, I’d do anything for some of your cooking. The food here is not so great. I’ve had worse, though, so I can't really complain.

If you decide not to write to me anymore, all that I can ask is that you just tell me. The waiting can be super hard so it’s best to make a clean break when your experiment is over. I will understand.

 

Be happy, Mrs. S

 

Jesse

 

 

 

P.S. Oh, and make sure you put my DC# on everything from here on out. It took a while for me to get my mail with the move and all.

 

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

 

 

_Pinkman, Jesse, DC#148369_

_  
Penitentiary of New Mexico_

_PO Box 1059_

_Santa Fe, New Mexico 87504_

 

_July 15 th_

_Dear Jesse,_

_Oh, thank God you’re okay. I just had terrible things going through my head for weeks and I admit I may have been a bit overzealous when I looked up your parents’ address and showed up on their doorstep. So sorry about that. But you really had me concerned! And now you tell me these things about your fellow inmates and I don’t know if I feel any better, Jesse. I know jail is meant to be a bad place, but this one sounds awful. Are you really okay? What kind of accident? Did you slip or something?_

_Well, do apologize to your mother for me when you see her. I really did not mean to scare her that way. I hadn’t anticipated being so … I don’t know. Like, rattled that I couldn’t get in touch with you. I just felt really terrible, Jesse, about those things I said in that letter. I wasn’t thinking. You’re already paying for your crimes; I had no right to add to your troubles. I can’t even blame that on my medication. I think I just need to get out more, you know? Not just around town, but maybe go for some day trips. Like maybe I could come and see you? You said they have a tour there, right? Maybe I’ll absorb some local history and stop by and say hello? Would that be all right? I’ve been thinking about it a lot, ever since you went silent on me. It’s up to you, of course, whether you want me to visit or not. I thought it would be nice, however, to actually get to talk face-to-face. If you’re okay with that. I’m sure you’d rather have just about anyone else come and visit before some crazy lady who made you lasagna once, but it would be kind of great to be able to go for a long drive by myself and see how you are doing. It's not even two hours away. You can show me some of your drawings, perhaps. _

_Anyway, no pressure or anything. But think about it, okay? I told you my nephew’s birthday was coming up, right? We had a little party for him (strange, it was the day you finally answered my letters) before he left for the airport with his friends. It was a rather subdued affair, but at least I got to see my sister smile a few times. We had it here at the house and I cooked all day for it. I made a crepe torte with 12 layers filled with buttercream. It was insane. As for my gift, I won’t tell you what I finally got for him because you’ll probably think it’s silly. Do you think my nephew will go and pay for strippers, too? Is that like a rite of passage or something? I guess I wouldn’t know much about that, although I did go to a bachelorette party once for an old college friend and she had some sexy cop show up and strip down to a G-string. I found it a bit tacky, to be honest._

_I do want Flynn to have a good time, though. He deserves it. It’s been so hard for him, especially at school, so I am really thrilled that he’s found a group of friends that are so loyal and protective of him. I want to believe that loyalty is important. Do you? Now, I mean? I’ve always thought I was loyal to my family, even when they irritated me, but after all this … I don’t know how to feel anymore. Is it still possible to have loyalty for someone if the other person sold you out? I keep thinking about something you said in your trial – that you stayed loyal to Walt because you owed him your life. But do you ever think that maybe it was more than that? For a long time, I didn’t want to stand by my sister. I didn’t want to forget that she betrayed me and I wanted to remind her of that every minute she spent in my presence. That both her and her husband’s actions got Hank killed. I wanted to believe it was unforgivable, what she did. But I can’t any longer. I have to forgive her. She’s my sister and I love her, but more importantly, we’re tied together now. This thing that happened, it took something away from us both, and now we need to help each other, to be able to pick up what’s left of the mangled pieces of our lives and move on. I need that, Jesse. Maybe you need that, too? To forgive Walt, that is. And maybe you need to forgive yourself as well. I know you probably have a thousand and one problems to deal with right now and none of them revolving around self-reflection, but I hope that’s something you can talk about with your therapist. Sometimes, forgiving other people isn’t even about them, it’s about doing a kindness for ourselves._

_Oh, and as for the Drama idea, I think that sounds tremendous. I get the sense that you are a person very much in the now. Just from watching you and talking to you, it seems like you feel things very deeply. That will probably suit you well on a stage. A way to channel those emotions that feel trapped inside of you, perhaps? I did a couple of years in my high school Drama club, if you can believe it. I was actually pretty good. I did a performance of Ophelia in Hamlet that brought the house down. This was back when my mother was still alive and, bless her, she cried through my entire speech – when Ophelia has gone totally bonkers singing nursery rhymes for the court before she heads out on a poorly dressed swim?  I don’t know how much you’ve read Shakespeare (if you haven’t – spoiler alert!), but since you were asking for a reading list, that guy is great. I’ve been thinking a lot about a line in that play, lately. I don’t want to be “incapable of my own distress”. I think I may go off of the anti-depressants, Jesse. I don’t like the way they make me feel._

_The new quarters sound so much better for you and I hope you can get some exercise outside, too, especially after your accident. I could use a bit of muscle around here, I don’t mind saying. I have so much work to do in the backyard. There are weeds growing through cracks in the bricks, and I’m going to have to lay down some cement over by the grilling nook. We have one tree back there and I think it may be diseased. I should probably hire someone, but since I never have guests over for barbecues these days it’s not exactly a priority._

_Well, anyway, I hope that after all that drama you start feeling better, Jesse. Things are looking up for us, aren’t they? Did I tell you that I am going back to work next week? It’s only on a part-time basis, but it will be something to do, at any rate. I can look inside of other people for a change. Just a few shifts here and there, to get me back to dealing with the outside world. Kleinman has been very good to me and I think I’m ready. In fact, I think that meeting with your mother convinced me. So, I have my fingers crossed for us both. It would be great to see how you’re doing for myself. Please let me know when a good time to visit would be. Oddly, I still worry about you. There are times when I go to sleep at night, that your face is the only one I see. I picture you all in white, surrounded by white, and I think that maybe you've been sent to me, Jesse. A voice that I'm meant to listen to.  
_

_Take care of yourself, please._

_Marie_

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

 

 

 

Penitentiary of New Mexico

PO Box 1059

Santa Fe, New Mexico 87504

 

July 26, 2014

 

Hi, Mrs. S.

 

Okay, I’m going to say this right away because it’s been all I can think about ever since I received your letter.

 

I don’t think I’m quite ready for that visit just yet.

 

Is that all right? I’m sorry. I know you want to get out of the house and everything, but maybe wait a few months before you plan that road trip. You’ve started work again, right? You’re going to be busy, probably. Hell, it’s the middle of summer. If you want a little vacation there’s way better places. You know, time for beaches and getting a tan and all that fun stuff, not hanging out in prison. I mean, I’m super flattered that you want to come see me, and I know I suggested it in the first place but like, I was totally joking at the time. I think you’re such a nice lady, really. And it’s been so good for me to be able to have someone like you to correspond with and all. This place, though, might be a little too depressing for you right now. I just think that maybe you should tell your doctor about this idea first and make sure he’s cool with it, especially if you’re not on your medication. Is that really the best move? I just don’t want you to have, like a – I don’t know, like a bad reaction. And maybe I’m not what you think I am. Things might be a little improved but it’s still hard here. You’ve got to play a part, you know? Or I guess you don’t. But anyway, I’m not saying it ain’t ever gonna happen, okay? Just that I’ll let you know when I think it’s a good time.

 

The other thing you got me contemplating is probably something I’ll be thinking about for as long as I’m in here. I won't lie, the idea of forgiving Walter is something I struggle with, and honestly, it changes on a day-to-day basis. I hear you, though, that it gets to the point where you’ve gotta do it for yourself, and you are probably totally right on that one. And some days I think I’m almost there, but then … I can’t let it go. Like I told you before, I want to get it out of me, but it’s the hardest thing in the world. I could probably do a better job bending back the bars of my cell with my mind, you know? It’s like Walter put his cancer in me and I’m waiting for it to go into remission. Okay, that was gross. But anyway, Dr. Ellis says I need to visualize my child-self and to shape him independently, to insert all of the things I want in myself and feel it take root. She calls it growing the Man I want to be. I have to write these letters out for my dad, and to Walter, too, and explain to them how they failed me and all this other crap. I don’t know if it’s working but at least my dad is still around for me to talk this shit out. I tried to act out a little bit with Dr. Ellis in like a role-playing capacity, but it was really awkward. I can’t imagine saying this stuff to my father’s face, and in some ways, I’m kind of glad I don’t have to say any of it to Walter. Or maybe I do.

 

There was a moment – the last time I saw him, actually. I wanted to tell him, to say everything that had been building up in me since those fuckers took me away to their camp, and I had a chance to get some of it out, but it wasn’t enough. And Walt was standing there, just looking at me and everybody behind us was dead and it was like, I didn’t need to say anything out loud anymore. Like he knew already. Dr. Ellis always talks about this thing, a transference, like she thinks that I was taking these feelings I had from when I was a kid and putting them onto Walter, and okay, whatever, but it was a little different than that. Instead, all of my feelings were suddenly in this box and it just passed between us and Walter opened that box and he understood. He saw the good and the bad in a single second. I mean, the guy had just saved my ass again and I didn’t know how to process that, except the way I always did which was to be grateful.

 

But maybe I was kidding myself. Because once a couple of days had passed, that anger was back in me and I couldn’t handle it. I stopped in this gas station out in the middle of nowhere and got a good look at myself for like the first time in months. And I punched that mirror so hard and so much that literally all of the glass fell out of the frame, and then there was blood everywhere and I was bleeding but I couldn’t feel anything at all except this white heat in my guts. I didn’t recognize that guy, you know? It’s not like anyone has ever cut me a break or done me a solid, but I thought Walter had, once upon a time. I thought he believed in me, for a brief and shining moment. But it had all been built on lies. And once that belief was gone, once the rose-colored glasses were off, I realized it was just me again, like always, and there had never been any true partnership. I was just a chump. I was the monkey. I fell for that shit because I was stupid, just like Walt said. I really wanted to feel special, but the truth is - I’m just not.

 

So, yeah, it’s a discussion I’ll be having for a while, I guess. I can’t rely on anyone else but myself. I’m real happy that my folks are willing to give me a second chance, but I can’t be a burden to them, for like, forever. When I get out of here, I need to have this figured out.

 

Thanks for the recommendation, by the way. I don’t know if I’m ready for Shakespeare yet, either, ha ha. I have no idea what that guy is on about. It might as well be in another language. Maybe I’ll just binge all the movies some day. I’d love to see what you looked like in high school, though. I bet you were a total hottie, Mrs. S. Not that you aren’t one now, but I just mean, for like a mental picture, you know? What else did you do back then? Were you like a cheerleader? Or in the math club, or something? Your sister seems a lot more serious, though. Like, kind of scary herself. I would not want to mess with her. Still, I hope she is doing better and that her kids are okay. Oh, that reminds me – I am totally curious now what you got for your nephew. It can’t be that bad, can it? I mean, unless it’s like a giant stuffed baby seal, or something. Man, you’ve got to tell me now or else I’m going to go nuts wondering about it, ha ha.

 

Anyway, on that note, I better go. I’ve got another session with Dr. Ellis later this afternoon and then one of the counselors is starting this yoga class, so I don’t want to miss that.

 

Good luck being back on the job, Mrs. S. You’ll have to tell me all about it. Seriously, I’m really interested in your line of work. Your husband said it was like an X-ray technician, right? Maybe I can study something like that while I’m in here. Food for thought, at any rate.

 

Sincerely yours,

 

Jesse

XX

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for taking so long between updates. There will be a more energized attempt at getting this up a little more frequently, as I am moving towards a date when all my fics will be finished and I can move on from this fandom. I am still debating whether its better to put Marie and Jesse's replies in one chapter or their own chapters. Any thoughts? Perhaps it depends on the length of their responses. Look for some new developments soon!


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